Blue Moves
When I was a kid, I spent about half of every summer with my Dad, then a reluctant bachelor navigating the mid-seventies on a circuit that ran from central California through southern Oregon and on up to Portland. The company he kept often included fellow parents, whose houses often harbored kids older than me; the first thing I looked for if we paid a visit to a new house was the stereo, where I'd immediately station myself, leafing through the house's record collection. I wanted to understand how music functioned in the adult world; it seemed like a language worth learning.
Over the course of a few years I learned which albums were standard in the contemporary collections of hip grown-ups -- Tapestry, Pretzel Logic, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I struggled to situate Elton John alongside the company he kept in these record racks; his pop songs felt like the stuff me & my friends dug -- AM radio pop -- but, in the words of a grown-up who once took it upon himself to parse for me the records we were listening to, he could get "a lot tougher" than his ballad-friendly radio face might suggest.
I remember, somewhere near San Luis Obispo -- Morro Bay? Pismo Beach? -- seeing Blue Moves for the first time. I hated its title immediately, because I was a very literal-minded child. What's a blue move? Does he mean "movies"? Why is the title written out in cursive, don't they have a typesetter? I don't remember hearing the album in that house, where I'm certain I heard Caribou and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road for the first time. ("Love Lies Bleeding" scared the shit out of me and remains a favorite.) I do remember seeing the album in similar collections over the next several years, but I don't remember anybody spinning it instead of one of the classics.
This morning in my hotel room in Katowice I've listened to it for the first time; it is outstanding. I guess the rap on this album is that it's "uneven," the result of a relentless work schedule that had produced so many classic singles in such a short time over the preceding four or five years. I can't agree; to my ear, this sounds like one of the bravest attempts at a reorientation ever attempted by a successful artist, with every song slightly improving on formulas already mastered by John & Taupin; the ballads dial back (most of) the excess in favor of understatement (see "Idol" for this, if not "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word"), the rock numbers trade the trebly bite of "The Bitch is Back" for more spacious ensemble pieces like "Crazy Water." The string arrangements show that Elton's crush on Philadelphia soul was for real, and the horns stretch out into delicious, later- Woody-Herman languor. There are instrumentals -- Lord, please bring back instrumentals on rock albums; I beg of You -- one of which, "Theme from a Non-Existent TV Series," could have been ported into a contemporaneous new wave album without anybody batting an eye. It's true that John traverses most of his range here, eschewing only the "tougher" stuff my grown-up tutor had favored -- but that's no loss; there's a wealth of it over the three albums that preceded this one, and besides, between "Boogie Pilgrim" and "Shoulder Holster" and the flirts-with-prog "One Horse Town," you'd be a cad to say he'd gone soft. Roger Pope's drumming throughout is a miracle of versatility.
Was it just that Elton John was too good for the attention spans of the people tasked with reviewing his output back then? Did the big hits loom so large that a more ambitious track like "One Horse Town" couldn't push the hooks out of the spotlight? But it's so good, a creation of pure momentum. It makes you wait a solid minute for any vocals at all; the chorus doesn't feel quite certain that it wants to be a chorus until you're hearing it for the third time; the vocal delivery is a neat demonstration of the difference between swagger, which he'd long since mastered, and confidence, which he delivers in abundance across four sides. Only in rock could a wide-ranging collection like this one get faulted for its reach, but it's my understanding that this album has always had a cult of boosters. Count me in as a late addition to the congregation.
Over the course of a few years I learned which albums were standard in the contemporary collections of hip grown-ups -- Tapestry, Pretzel Logic, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I struggled to situate Elton John alongside the company he kept in these record racks; his pop songs felt like the stuff me & my friends dug -- AM radio pop -- but, in the words of a grown-up who once took it upon himself to parse for me the records we were listening to, he could get "a lot tougher" than his ballad-friendly radio face might suggest.
I remember, somewhere near San Luis Obispo -- Morro Bay? Pismo Beach? -- seeing Blue Moves for the first time. I hated its title immediately, because I was a very literal-minded child. What's a blue move? Does he mean "movies"? Why is the title written out in cursive, don't they have a typesetter? I don't remember hearing the album in that house, where I'm certain I heard Caribou and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road for the first time. ("Love Lies Bleeding" scared the shit out of me and remains a favorite.) I do remember seeing the album in similar collections over the next several years, but I don't remember anybody spinning it instead of one of the classics.
This morning in my hotel room in Katowice I've listened to it for the first time; it is outstanding. I guess the rap on this album is that it's "uneven," the result of a relentless work schedule that had produced so many classic singles in such a short time over the preceding four or five years. I can't agree; to my ear, this sounds like one of the bravest attempts at a reorientation ever attempted by a successful artist, with every song slightly improving on formulas already mastered by John & Taupin; the ballads dial back (most of) the excess in favor of understatement (see "Idol" for this, if not "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word"), the rock numbers trade the trebly bite of "The Bitch is Back" for more spacious ensemble pieces like "Crazy Water." The string arrangements show that Elton's crush on Philadelphia soul was for real, and the horns stretch out into delicious, later- Woody-Herman languor. There are instrumentals -- Lord, please bring back instrumentals on rock albums; I beg of You -- one of which, "Theme from a Non-Existent TV Series," could have been ported into a contemporaneous new wave album without anybody batting an eye. It's true that John traverses most of his range here, eschewing only the "tougher" stuff my grown-up tutor had favored -- but that's no loss; there's a wealth of it over the three albums that preceded this one, and besides, between "Boogie Pilgrim" and "Shoulder Holster" and the flirts-with-prog "One Horse Town," you'd be a cad to say he'd gone soft. Roger Pope's drumming throughout is a miracle of versatility.
Was it just that Elton John was too good for the attention spans of the people tasked with reviewing his output back then? Did the big hits loom so large that a more ambitious track like "One Horse Town" couldn't push the hooks out of the spotlight? But it's so good, a creation of pure momentum. It makes you wait a solid minute for any vocals at all; the chorus doesn't feel quite certain that it wants to be a chorus until you're hearing it for the third time; the vocal delivery is a neat demonstration of the difference between swagger, which he'd long since mastered, and confidence, which he delivers in abundance across four sides. Only in rock could a wide-ranging collection like this one get faulted for its reach, but it's my understanding that this album has always had a cult of boosters. Count me in as a late addition to the congregation.
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